Seasonal change, clocks spring forward, it is time for Order. A wild gale is brewing... He's her force of nature. Is it a forecast, or foreplay?
She opened the screen door, padded barefoot out on to the wooden porch. A sudden gust of wind blew loose strands of hair around her face as she carried the heavy basket of wet laundry down three steps to the grass. She shivered in the chilly breeze, wearing only a white crocheted crop top and an unbuttoned pair of pale blue jeans worn low on swerving hips, baring her slightly rounded paunch. She set down the basket next to the clothesline, picked up one large white sheet, fingers nimbly pressing corners together evenly, willowy bronzed arms reaching high upward, grasping wooden clothespins as fierce winter wind swept cold wet cotton against her flesh -- she gasped, quickly snapping pins closed, finally jumped away from the whipping material in triumph. One sheet hung up. She bent over at the waist -- reached for another...
He watched from the window, her lithe body wrestling with nature as she worked, determined to hang the bedding to dry outside in spite of the season. It was fresher, smelled cleaner, she said. He simply enjoyed the view -- his slut toiling in the backyard, hanging laundry, with her full belly exposed, the loose dungarees slipping farther down each time she bent over and reached upward. Late morning sun cast glints of red and gold in her hair, pulled up in a high ponytail, except those that fell around her unblemished face in disarray. The crocheted top tied around her neck and back, its see-through knit triangles cradling creamy flesh puffs with rosy, erect nipples left little to the imagination. She was a sexy, irresistible sight, so innocently losing her clothes while hanging laundry.
His left hand instinctively grasped his aching balls, thinking about squirting His seed on her cool, bare cheeks -- all of them.
Four ten-foot lengths of vinyl-coated line were stretched between two stable cedar T-bar posts, nine inches between each to give enough air space for drying. Now she struggled with heavy wet cotton linens, while sheets already on the line whisked back and forth, beating against her thighs and dragging the jeans past curved hips, revealing a hint of a dimple just below the small of her back. The wind was relentless, howling through the trees, the sound of flapping sheets drowning out everything else. She was almost finished now, white sheets waving and fluttering across two full lines -- she bent down, gripped the end of a pillow case, but as she angled upward, her halter tie caught on the wicker basket. Before she could recover the top from its snare, a gust of wind pulled it completely off, leaving her full and convex fruits barren, their stems taut and puckered from the cold assault -- she twisted at the waist and reached up to hang the pillowcase, eager to escape the force of nature.
It was the slam of the screen door that she heard, echoing through the trees, reverberating in the wind. She glanced down at the basket, not quite empty, crossed her arms, rubbing them briskly, seeking warmth, indecisive -- what was that?
He enjoyed watching her battle, straining against the elements, bracing broad hips, firm thighs apart, lifting up on tip-toes, tightened calf muscles stabilizing her frame while she worked. As sheets thrashed around her, their ends snapping in the bitter wind, His need to possess her surged, manifesting in His rock-hard dick. When the halter ripped away, her belly button seized His attention -- from the window, the elliptical concave was drawing Him closer.
He slipped out the screen door -- the wind slammed it shut. She didn't realize He was there -- she certainly couldn't anticipate what He had in mind.
She abandoned the basket, leaving its damp contents. Only for a second, she fretted that they would wrinkle, or worse, mildew. The ground was hard and cold beneath her feet as she ran for the back porch, thinking about the warm kitchen and coffee. It was too damn cold outside -- why did she wear that halter anyway?
"Did you forget something, slut?"
She froze on the doorstep, arm mid-air reaching for the door. She hesitated too long -- He yanked the tousled ponytail, pulling her backward until she stumbled to the ground in front of Him. "P-p-please, it hurts!" she cried out, one hand instinctively stretching defensively to pull away the strong arm gripping her hair. He jerked up once, watching her wince, face contorted in panic.
He slapped her with the back of His right hand, gripping her hair with His left. Tears welling in her eyes, a red mark appeared on her cheek.
"Take off the jeans, you fucking bitch." He was not in the mood to coddle her.
She didn't look into His face -- His voice both intimidated and electrified her. He noticed this, slapped her again. "LOOK AT ME!" He bellowed. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"Yes, Sir," she answered meekly, bending knees to stand, sliding off the jeans -- He kicked her legs out from under her, knocking her backward to the ground.
"Did I tell you to stand?" He glared down at her. She was naked except for pink bikini panties that fit low on hips, high on thighs. She scrambled away from the crumpled denim at her ankles, quickly replying "no, Sir."
He stood over her like a raging bull, as if ready to impale His disorderly slut with His rigid spear. She saw that predatory gleam in His eyes, and its arousing affect on her was involuntary. She could deny Him nothing -- He owned her.
Unfastening His jeans, He sat down on the top porch step, legs stretched out to the ground. "Crawl to Me, delphi" He instructed, freeing the throbbing bulge from confinement, massaging swollen sacs to temper the beast.
Winter grass, gravel and dirt under her knees and palms -- goose bumps on her flesh, the sun had disappeared, it was colder now. She focused on Him, looked into His eyes, and crawled.
Stopped at the bottom step, between His thighs, long hair loosened from its band, falling on shoulders and smooth breasts, she no longer felt the biting wind or the abrasive ground beneath her knees. She heard nothing except the sound of His breathing, its rhythm orchestrating her own.
Her brilliant sapphire eyes, blinking black lashes, were deeper blue at this moment. Wanton gaze, responding to Him -- so close now, she felt beckoning warmth emanating from His open jeans.
"Master," she whispered, outstretched fingertips caressing His inner thighs, admiring His full erection, the beautiful pillar rising from engorged balls. She swallowed, continued her plea, murmuring "Your big dick is irresistible to Your slut." Her hands advanced closer to His pulsing groin until she curled manicured fingers around the thick shaft -- eloquently squeezing and releasing, savoring the bulk of flesh in her small palms.
She curved upward onto the porch like an artful feline, elbows tucked close, pressing her face into His massive testicles, Using the tip of her tongue, she mapped the thin sacs, slowly relishing their contour and weight. Her hips were within arm's reach, pink panties barely concealing her ass -- tempting Him. He gripped a handful of raw flesh, and pulled her hard into Him. She purred, lapping with flat lingual muscle against His balls, burying her head further until He felt her tongue delving deeper.
"Fuck my ass with your tongue, my sweet slut" He growled, adjusting on the porch step. He felt her lips on His balls, nipping gently at thin membranes, tongue trailing the sensitive perineum, until finally His heart nearly stopped as her warm, wet tongue circled His highly responsive anus. She hummed quietly as she began to insert the tip, sending vibrations inside Him, reaching deeper each time -- fucking her Master's ass with her vigorous tongue. She brought her hands up between her breasts, massaging His balls -- they were so full, tight, immense. She knew how to heighten His senses, unleash the wolf.
